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This is my own submission to the 4th Kasarberang Non-Contest.

It’s been well over a decade since I’ve written anything, and coincidentally, the story I wanted to write fit well into the contest. Also, it seemed like fun to add someone else’s rules to my own idea. Unfortunately, writing doesn’t seem to be quite like riding a bike and I didn’t complete nearly as much as I would have liked. Still, I’ll post the few chapters I did write over the next few days as I rewrite them. I hope you all enjoy it, and I plan on continuing after the contest is over.





 

Chapter 1



 


Margaret sighed, her trembling hand guiding the key into its lock with a mix of dread and resolve. Her heart was pounding in her chest, each beat echoing the gravity of the moment. The weight of Bridget’s presence beside her only heightened her anxiety. 

    “This is what I’ve been trying to explain,” Margaret said, pressing against the door as beer cans rattled on the other side.

    A heavy, putrid stench enveloped both women as they entered the apartment. They waded through channels carved through stacks of molding pizza boxes and crumpled beer caps. The sticky squelch of the floor muffled the thud of Bridget’s ankle boots as she carefully stepped over yellowing, brittle Kleenex strewn across the floor surrounding a deeply stained couch. They followed the path to the other side of the room. 

    “He’s-” her voice cut off by the foul air assaulting her senses. She turned to face Bridget, clenched her fists, and persevered through the distressing feeling. “He’s not a bad person, he’s just…” Her tone dwindled as she fought the urge to swallow the horrid air. “Lost.”

    Bridget, her face masked with stoicism, nodded. “I understand Margaret,“ she stated, her voice maintaining an impressive composure against the chaos surrounding them. “Some people just need a guiding hand to set them on the correct track.”

    Turning to the next door, a soft smile briefly graced Margaret’s face, grateful for the glimmer of hope Bridget’s reassurance provided. However, as she prepared to open it, a twinge of guilt returned, mixing with her embarrassment. The thought of showing Bridget the state of Ethan’s bedroom weighed heavily on her conscience. 

    Opening the door was like witnessing the aftermath of a homeless camp exploding. Dirty, wrinkled clothing piled over a dresser, desk, and chair, spilling onto the floor. The air carried a familiar heavy acidic smell mixed with sweat and desperation. Sheets of cardboard stapled to the window trim blocked out the light, keeping the room dark enough for its inhabitant to sleep through the day. Other than the light bleeding through the open door, the only light source in the room was a glowing phone next to a passed-out, face-down man snoring in a drunken stupor.

    Careful to avoid the half-drank cans of beer, Bridget approached the bed and knelt, her eyes scanning over the naked form before her, she confirmed what the state of his apartment already told her. Without his mother’s constant care, he lost all semblance of healthy habits. 

    The pads of his feet had turned grayish and blackened from trampling the layers of filth. His belly protruded from nearly four years of surviving off nothing but beer and takeout. His overgrown chestnut hair clung to his face, slick with sweat and grease. His skin, likely last washed when his mother had last ordered him to while he still lived with her, had developed an oily crust around the armpits and crotch.

    Turning her attention to the phone at Margaret’s son’s side, Bridget’s face contorted at the sight on screen. A man raising a cat o’ nine tails style whip above his head. Ready to strike a sobbing woman strapped to a bench. Her fair skin was shredded by a level of abuse far beyond any limit Bridget would even dare consider. 

    Swiping the video off the screen, Bridget scrolled through the list of videos saved onto the phone. As she read the list a knot in her stomach twisted with disgust. Each title contained one or multiple combinations of slut, anal, whipping, BDSM, crying, whore, extreme, and cruel. 

    A sudden gasp snapped Bridget’s attention back to Margaret, who now hovered over her shoulder. Margaret’s fists were clenched in rage, tears streaking her makeup after witnessing the list of videos her son had saved for his pleasure. Her mouth was open as if she were silently screaming at him, desperately pleading for answers less horrifying than the grim truth before her.

    Margaret reached out with a trembling hand, slowly uncurling her fist and gently resting it on his back. It was as if this distraught mother were trying to heal the blight that had taken hold of the man she had raised. 

    Comforting someone in such distress did not come naturally to Bridget. Her usual methods would be wholly inappropriate in this situation. Yet, she felt the weight of the moment pressing deeply into her heart as she watched Margaret, who was quietly sobbing as if mourning a son already beyond saving.

    Rising from her kneeling position, Bridget extended a steady hand to Margaret’s trembling shoulder. Her tone was soft and reassuring as she said, “Come with me, Margaret. We’ll find somewhere nice to talk, okay?”

    Margaret looked up, her eyes red and swollen, as Bridget guided her away from the chaotic nest her son lived in. As they stepped out onto the open street, both women inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air as if emerging from drowning underwater. The city’s sounds, car horns blaring, people chatting, and a distant dog barking, felt almost melodic compared to the clattering of beer cans and crunch of pizza boxes that came with navigating the filth her son had amassed.

    Needing to air out the cloud of dirt that haunted them from the apartment, both women walked until they found a small park a few blocks away—they made their way to a secluded bench shaded by the yellowing leaves of a large oak tree—a perfect place to hold a conversation unfit for the public ear.

    Margaret’s focus drifted from Bridget, latching onto a young couple walking hand in hand in the distance. The mother, waddling along in the late stages of pregnancy, her face glowing with anticipation. Her husband, smiling down at her, overjoyed with the endless possibilities the future holds for their budding family. Both poised to welcome a blank slate to the world for them to impress upon. Both completely unaware of how horrible the result could become.

    “It must be nice.”

    Bridget followed Margaret’s gaze to the couple before asking, “What must be nice?”

    The silence was all that Margaret answered with, instead her grim expression conveying an internal dialogue that Bridget could only guess at. When Margaret’s eyebrows lifted, Bridget wondered if someone had made a surprising statement or a valid point. As the surprise turned into a frown, it seemed an argument had been defeated. The gentle lines on her face turned to a scowl as the conversation grew heated. Then, finally rested on a more neutral but determined expression as her eyes flickered with a burning passion.

    “I don’t want Ethan to treat some poor girl like that… Pig.” Margaret’s tone was blunt, emphasizing that word, Pig. He didn’t deserve a name; a pig is all he is, “But maybe Ethan is worse.”

    “I see why you called me,” Bridget stated with a sign. When Margaret first called Bridget had expected screaming or threats, looking for someone to blame other than her husband. Instead, Margaret had seemed almost apologetic, as if she were somehow the one in the wrong. Still, Bridget wouldn’t have ever considered meeting Margaret again after their first encounter, but when Margaret offered more money than Bridget had earned in the last decade, she reconsidered.

    “At first I assumed you were exaggerating,” Bridget turned to Margaret. “But it does seem like he needs an extreme shift in direction.”

    “You know, it’s almost funny,” Margaret whispered, fighting back another wave of tears. “Over the last year that Pig started to act like a decent husband. He started trying to be better and treat me better. Listen to me, noticing and complimenting my efforts. Even being more mindful of my needs. Little did I know it was you… helping.”

    Bridget sat quietly, she was used to hearing David, Margaret’s husband, speak about her. How proud of himself he was, almost laughing as he explained the mind games he’d play. Deliberately ignoring Margaret’s attempts to be more appealing to him. Even going as far as verbally slapping her with back-handed compliments. When she would indulge in salon treatments he would question why she never put effort into her looks. If she cooked him a meal, he would immediately ask if she had ever considered taking classes. 

Men proudly mistreating their wives wasn’t new to Bridget, but this was the first time she witnessed the other side of it all. To see firsthand how their victim suffered and how slowly working that out of these men only satisfied her own desire and still contributed to the destruction of these women’s lives. 

    “That Pig infected him. Corrupted my baby.” Margaret said through clenched teeth, her rage obvious. Finally, turning to Bridget directly she asked, “Can you do it? Can you help him?”

    Bridget recognized the glare Margaret’s face carried immediately. It was the same as the night they first met. David had confessed to calling Margaret a bitch that week, a word that Bridget had planned to remove from David’s lexicon completely when the hotel room door burst open. But it wasn’t the blind rage Margaret initially wore when she first witnessed the two together. It was the swirl of confusion that mixed into that fury when she came to understand the position her husband was in–on his hands and knees, dressed in a plaid miniskirt, with his pink satin panties pulled down to his knees. Then came the horror as Margaret watched Bridget slowly pull all eight inches of her strap-on from the depths of Margaret’s husband. 

    With a long sigh, Bridget’s eyes softened as she met Margaret’s gaze. “Usually when…” Bridget paused, choosing her words carefully. Giving her best effort to be delicate in addressing what her clients paid for and not to remind Margaret too much of that night. While she certainly didn’t respect those men, she didn’t want to add to the suffering she already caused. “Usually when clients meet with me. It’s for a specific type of experience. It is always consensual. Just, over time, they learn to be more respectful and to appreciate the kind of fun that I feel they deserve.”

    Training someone who hadn’t sought her out originally was not Bridget’s normal approach. She wouldn’t have ever considered attempting it if it wasn’t for some strange debt she felt to Margaret. On top of that, if Ethan had adopted and exacerbated some of his father’s most appalling traits, it seemed prudent to address these issues before he harms another woman.

    “I’ll help you, but first,” Bridget had always assumed she could keep her own emotions out of her chosen profession. With clients like the aptly named Pig, it was easy, but here she felt she owed Margaret. “We’ll proceed on my terms, with no room for negotiation.”

    “Whatever I need to do,” Margaret quickly replied.

    “Good, then we’ll get both of their behaviors corrected.”
 

Chapter 2

 

    Margaret had exhausted every conventional approach. Despite hiring therapists, offering larger financial incentives, and even engaging a motivational speaker, her efforts to encourage her son remained fruitless. The only forward momentum came from a desperate measure when she threatened to terminate the lease on Ethan’s apartment if he didn’t agree to at least start college. Yet, she remained wholly unconvinced in his devotion to bettering himself. 

    Adding to her mounting stress, Margaret had been receiving increasingly urgent complaints from the apartment management. The stench emanating from Ethan’s apartment had become a serious issue. Each complaint came with a warning that eviction was imminent if the situation wasn’t addressed. Desperate to avoid her son’s eviction, Margaret found herself paying more and more to the management in the hopes of buying additional time and preserving Ethan’s living situation.

Still, his lack of enthusiasm was evident in every interaction. When she texted about what Ethan needed for his classes, she often received no reply. On the rare occasions, she managed to get him on the phone, he would brush off questions about his courses or his intended degree. This persistent disengagement deepened Margaret’s frustration and despair, leaving her feeling as though her efforts were being callously ignored. Now, with only a few days until college started, she turned to the only woman who had made meaningful changes to her husband’s behavior. Hoping that the same type of intervention could be applied to her own son.

    Bridget, with her ever-stoic demeanor, suggested that he required a more stringent path. Transitioning from his current static, careless lifestyle to one filled with schedules and assessments would prove extremely difficult for someone severely lacking discipline. 

    It wouldn’t be as simple as guiding Ethan through the acclimation process to his new life. He first needed his current attitude towards his future dismantled so that it could be rebuilt from the ground up. Her methods were unorthodox at the best of times and when necessary, brutal. But they were effective.

    However, Bridget explained that the key was to make these men believe they wanted to improve their behavior, motivated by the promise of rewards for good conduct and punishments for missteps. The real art was subtly persuading them that it was their own idea to seek more intense pleasures and accept increasingly severe consequences. But this process took months, even years, and time wasn’t a luxury she’d have with Ethan. For him it would need to be instantaneous, it would be an all-or-nothing situation and she was confident that her experience, combined with improvisational skills, were fit for the job.

    Margaret, feeling both a flicker of hope and a pang of apprehension, nodded slowly. She knew Bridget’s approach was radical, but her own efforts thus far had led nowhere. If anyone could break through to Ethan, it was Bridget. 

    “Thank you, Bridget,” Margaret said softly. “I trust you.”

    Bridget gave a curt nod, “We’ll start immediately.”

    Coming to a final agreement, both women rose as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. Margaret’s heart was heavy with apprehension, but she could now look to Bridget, whose calm, resolute expression provided a sliver of reassurance. Despite the uncertainty, for the first time, Margaret felt she may have found the solution to her son’s stagnation. 

    As the sun set, casting long shadows across the park, Bridget and Margaret walked back towards the apartment. The faint chirps of crickets filled the cooling air, amplifying the silence that returned to the two women as they walked. 

    Margaret’s mind raced with thoughts of the upcoming days. She felt an uneasy mix of relief and fear. A part of Bridget's plan required Margaret to stay completely separated from Ethan until Bridget deemed it safe for him to see her again. The idea of such a drastic separation was daunting, but Bridget’s confidence sparked a fragile hope that maybe this time would be different. The reality of their situation pressed heavily on her shoulders; it was clear that Ethan’s transformation needed to be as swift as it was profound.

    When they arrived at his door, Margaret hesitated, looking back to Bridget. Then, after receiving an affirming nod, gathered her courage and knocked at the door.

    From inside came the sounds of beer cans rattling beyond the door, and then after a few muffled obscenities, the door creaked open. Ethan, disheveled and bleary-eyed, clearly just woken up despite the late hour, peeked through the crack. 

    “Mom?” Ethan mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What the fuck do you want?”

    “Ethan… This is a friend of mine,” Margaret stated, motioning towards the woman at her side. “Could we please come in?”

    The eye beyond the door narrowed when its blurry gaze met Bridget’s. “I don’t need another one of your doctors. I told you I’d go back to school.”

    With a forceful bang, the door slammed shut in Margaret’s face.

    Margaret stood in stunned silence, reaching her trembling hand out as if to knock again. Before she managed to bang on the door Bridget placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

    “I’m sorry Margaret,” Bridget’s voice was steady and comforting. “I was hoping he’d at least talk to you for a bit, but I think it’s time for me to take over. Hand me the keys and wait out here.”

    Quickly retrieving the keys from her purse, Margaret handed them to Bridget. “Just… please be gentle with him,” 

    Bridget gave her a reassuring nod, though it did little to ease Margaret’s worry as she watched the woman disappear into the apartment. But Margaret had no idea that for Bridget, domming was like jazz-it’s just as much about the beatings you don’t give as much as the ones you do.

    Furious at the sound of his apartment door opening behind him, Ethan spun around and barked, “Mom! Get the fu–” his words cut short by the sight of the unexpected mystery woman approaching him.

Standing tall and confident, Bridget commands attention the moment she enters a room. Her long, raven black hair cascaded in glossy waves down her back, contrasting starkly against her glowing porcelain skin. With high cheekbones and a sharp jawline framing her striking features, she drew focus to her piercing, ice-blue eyes that bore through anyone they rested upon. 

Bridget took in Ethan’s appearance with both amusement and relief. This time, he stood shirtless in his living room, wearing stretched-out pajama pants that hung loosely around his hips. It was hardly an improvement to her first encounter with the naked him, but at least it was some effort at decency. Regardless of how minimal the effort was.

“Ethan, your mother cared about you. That’s why she hired me to help you.” her voice carried a subtle, dominating undertone, perfected in her years of experience dealing with men who didn’t yet know they needed to be stripped of their own volition.

“Look, I don’t know what she told you, but I don’t need help.” The snapping tone Ethan freely took with his mother had disappeared. Reduced by the humiliation of this woman, for what he believed to be the first time, witnessing the squalor he dwelled in.

    “Everyone needs a little help, Sweetheart,” Bridget stated, her tone softening just enough to convey understanding without losing its edge. “And accepting that is just the first step to progress.

    Ethan shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Normally, he met these therapists in their offices, where they had never fully seen the extent of filth he wallowed in. Instead, he watched as the woman’s toned legs glided her toward him. He admired the dark-washed jeans that hugged her curves perfectly. Her deep green blouse was made of soft, luxurious fabric, draped elegantly, hinting at the shape beneath without revealing all her secrets.

    Her full lips, painted in a bold, seductive red, curved into a knowing smile. Unbeknownst to Ethan, everything about her appearance, down to the simple yet elegant leather belt cinched around her waist, was a deliberate show for his benefit. Bridget, much like a spider hanging in its web, only needed to wait for her prey to be fully entangled before taking a bite.

    “I want you to relax.” Bridget’s warm breath poured over his ear. Her perfumed hand brushed an unwashed, greasy lock from Ethan’s face.

    Caught in the intensity of the moment, Ethan fought to swallow the lump building in his throat. His heart raced; he was out of his depth face to face with a real, non-pixelated woman. One who he still mistakenly believed to be a therapist, and he struggled to reconcile her commanding presence with the more professional yet less personal approaches of those who had tried before to worm their way into his life.

    “It’s okay to be vulnerable.” Her silken voice brushed past his ear as she dragged her fingers down his cheek. “I’m here to help you.”

    Ethan’s breaths were shallow, his chest rising and falling unevenly. The intoxicating blend of deep, exotic spices and velvety florals of her perfume filled his nostrils. His gaze shifted from the pristine, composed figure before him to the familiar chaos of his surroundings. The stark contrast made him momentarily uneasy. The disarray echoed the unsettled thoughts stirring within him, hinting at a reality he had long ignored.

    “Starting college is a good time to… restart,” she said, taking a moment to appreciate her foreshadowing of the journey they would both soon embark upon. Bridget’s light but deliberate touch continued to trace down to Ethan’s bare chest. “But finding that motivation can be so difficult.”

    “For some, it’s all about the reward,” she continued, her hand moving to the edge of his pajama pants. “The carrot, so to speak,” she explained, her hand trailing down his thigh. “But for others, well, they need a different kind of incentive.” The back of her hand purposefully grazed against his clothed cock to punctuate her statement. “For others, it’s the stick.”

    As her hand brushed against him, Ethan’s face flushed with excitement. Igniting every nerve ending with a jolt of electricity, his heart raced, struggling to maintain composure against the strange methods this unknown woman employed.

    “And that motivation is key,” Bridget whispered, her voice maintaining the command that came naturally to her. “Change can be difficult, but I can be a wonderful motivator.”

    His mind churned with resistance. The familiarity of his lifestyle, unambitious as it was, provided a unique comfort. The idea of leeching off his family’s wealth as he drifted through life was infinitely more enticing than confronting his issues and cleaning up his act. Still, he found this woman irresistible, the rush of her touch and what he believed to be promises of rewards drew him closer.

    Sensing his wavering conviction, Bridget capitalized with another step towards him, pressing her body against his. “I could make your time in college so much more… exciting.” The words hissed as her mouth closed the gap until her lips tickled his ear and cupped his genitals in her hand through the pajamas.

    Once his cock began to swell, Bridget’s hand quickly withdrew. “But I’m a lady. I can’t live in this.” Gesturing to the grotesque state of Ethan’s home with the same hand. “However, if I returned tomorrow and it was cleaner…” Her hand returned to his crotch. Wrapping her fingers around the bulging fabric.

    “Cleaner? I can do that.” Ethan blurted out. His mind was so clouded with lust that he felt he was prepared to agree to almost anything. However, almost anything paled in comparison to everything she planned to take from him.

    With that, Ethan watched as the enigmatic woman left his apartment with the same swift grace with which she had arrived. Her long, flowing hair cascaded like a dark wave with each confident stride, creating a striking contrast to the turmoil she left in her wake.

    In the hall, Bridget found Margaret, leaning to the side as she stole a glance of her son through the closing door, expecting to find him bruised and collapsed on the floor. Margaret breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him simply unharmed at the center of his chaotic apartment. “Thank goodness he’s okay,” she murmured with the first real relief she had felt all day. “How did it go?”

    “As well as could be expected. I gave him a day while I retrieve some things from storage and prepared my own home for his stay.” Bridget replied, “Also, as a bonus. I may have convinced him to clean up a bit. Maybe it’ll save you some money on whoever you have clear out that nest.”
 

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Good start.  Looking forward to see the lady in action.  If she can pull this off, I'll recommend her to my next door neighbor.

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Chapter 3



 

Even with expectations at their lowest, Ethan managed to disappoint. At a cursory glance, the apartment appeared cleaner and more spacious without the trash. However, a closer look quickly revealed the true extent of the room’s tortured state.

    Bridget stood at the open doorway, her critical gaze sweeping across the space. A newly exposed table had been unearthed from the mountain of trash that had previously buried it. Its top sagged to one side from the years of uneven weight previously stacked upon it. The laminate flooring resembled an amateur’s attempt at a Jackson Pollock-style painting. Layers of stains, hidden beneath crumbs and dust, made the original shade of the fake wood laminate indistinguishable.

    Her scrutinizing gaze then shifted to Ethan, who stood with his chest puffed out as if he were proud of this pathetic attempt at cleanliness. His reliance on someone–be it a maid or mother– to tidy up after him was glaringly obvious. Bridget had seen enough; it was time to start breaking down this useless man.

    “Well, you certainly put that twenty-four hours to good use,” she lied. “Unfortunately, I do have some bad news. Your mother won’t continue paying for your lease.”

    “What!?” Ethan yelled, his cheerful grin shifting to rage. “She told me if I went back to school, I could stay here!”

    “I know,” whispered Bridget. Her soothing tone concealed the truth of his living arrangement. It had taken some convincing for Margaret to go back on her promise.

    Faux caring hands cupped around Ethan’s balled fists, and she leaned in slightly, her voice oozing with feigned sympathy. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re welcome to come live with me.”

    “But she promised!” Ethan’s voice cracked with fury “She said if I went back to school, I could stay here.”

    Calm as a still lake, Bridget’s eyes never left his. “I understand,” she whispered. She couldn’t explain he needed to be vulnerable. He needed to feel abandoned and betrayed by his own mother. More importantly, he couldn’t believe running back to mommy was an option.

    Ethan’s rage flared, his childlike tantrum swinging into full effect, his fists shaking in Bridget’s hands. “After all those bullshit doctors, everything she put me through? That bitch is such a liar.”

    That word, that special b-word that all these little boys immediately reached for the moment they spoke about the women close to them. Hearing the mere mention of it left Bridget aching to turn his lower cheeks ten shades redder than his rosy tantrum-tinted face. Yet, she relented, knowing he wasn’t ready to commit to his new life and acting too quickly would jeopardize her one chance.

    Instead, she tightened her grip on his hands, drawing him closer. “It’s not your fault, Ethan. Sometimes things change; sometimes promises are broken.”

    “She’s always been like this,” he continued.” She’s always pretending she cares! Then she just turns around and demands more and more!”

    A fleeting smile tugged at Bridget’s lips, momentarily revealing her satisfaction before she quickly masked it. “But don’t worry, that’s why I’m here. I’ll help you.”

    Slowly, almost imperceptibly, her hand left Ethan’s and found its way to the back of his head, gently pulling him deeper into her embrace. She pressed his face into the deep V-neckline of her crimson silk blouse, muffling his hitched breath as his head pressed into her silk-clad breast.

    “But don’t worry, she murmured.

    Her other hand began sliding down his bare chest, approaching the edge of another, equally filthy, pair of pajama pants. 

    Keeping him gently pinned against her breast, Bridget whispered into his ear, “My house will offer us better privacy than we would have here. It will be somewhere we can have as much loud fun as we’d like. And I plan to have all kinds of fun with you… Speaking of which…” Her hand slithered into the waistband of his pants. “I promised you a reward for cleaning up, didn’t I?”

    Ethan’s body tensed, shocked by the fingers found his stiffening cock. His lips moved, trying to form words, but the sound was muffled by the fabric his face was pressed against. Reducing his attempt to a faint, inaudible murmur.

    “Shh,” she hissed, gentle and reassuring, easing his tension. “You don’t need to say anything. Just allow me to take care of you.”

    Working in tandem with Ethan’s labored breathing, Bridget’s hand wrapped around his shaft. Gently pulling towards herself with his exhale and pushing back into his body following his inhale. Careful not to grip too tightly, allowing the dry friction to only tease him.

    Once she felt he was ready, Bridget withdrew her hand and raised it to her contemplating her next move. She desiccated, her frustration with his lack of effort showed in his cleaning and use of derogatory terms. Opting for a more authoritative approach, she lowered her hand to his chin and whispered, “I need you to spit into my hand before I can continue sweetie.”

    Eager to return to his reward, Ethan didn’t waste time questioning the request. Quickly following as she commanded, her hand returned to his excited cock with the impromptu lubricant.

    “Now, I want you to imagine how this would feel after a long day of classes,” Bridget said, matching the speed of her stroking to his hastening breath. “Imagine how pleased I would be when you told me about the A you received on a test. You’d like to make me happy, don’t you?

    A low, rumbling grunt escaped from Ethan as his mind slipped from reality, His thoughts were adrift, captivated by the soothing cadence of Bridget’s voice. He was enveloped in a wave of sensations that coursed through him, drawing him deeper into the moment.

    “I love it when boys work hard to make me happy,” she stated, stopping the stroking. Bridget then gripped his shaft tightly, continuously grinding her thumb along the underside of his dickhead. “You’ll follow the rules and keep me happy, won’t you?”

    Inhaling deeply, Ethan was overwhelmed by the intoxicating blend of spices and floral notes from her perfume. His feet jittered with impatience, unable to contain the mounting pressure. “Anything,” he groaned. “I’ll do whatever you want”

    “Oh good, it is so much fun rewarding the boys who obey,” Bridget lied, returning to the underserved stroking as a reward for the pitiful attempt to clean as he was ordered. 

    A sharp inhale from Ethan told Bridget to grip tighter. His muscles loosened and immediately stiffened against the rapid rhythm of her hand. The pressure built like a geyser as he moaned into her breast.

    “Now, cum for me.”

    Rocketing out, Ethan expelled the pent-up waves of pleasure into his pants. His knees trampled as Bridget used her free hand to prop him up, preventing him from crumpling under his weight. Cheeks flushed from his racing heartbeat. A warm, pleasant exhaustion settled in, like the aftermath of a good workout.

    Allowing for a moment to collect himself, Bridget held Ethan tightly against her. Wiping the sticky mess from her hand against the outside leg of his pants. Taking advantage of his mentally diminished state, Bridget whispered, “I want you to come home with me, but you can’t leave dressed like this. Let’s find you something more appropriate to wear.”

    Taking him by the hand, she led him into his small, cluttered bedroom. Discovering clothes still strewn about, the bed unmade with the sheets tangled in a heap at the center, and the frame of beer cans around the bed remained untouched.

    “I was going to clean this up. I just didn’t have time.” Ethan quickly interjected. 

    Bridget’s eyes narrowed, a look of disappointment creeping across her face. Cleaning the trash from the main room of his apartment couldn’t have taken more than a few hours. She was certain he had wasted at least twenty hours sleeping or playing video games instead of making a real effort to clean.

    With a sigh, the annoyed woman replied, “I’m sure you did your best. Now, let’s find you a new outfit.”

    As Bridget bent over to pick through the mound of clothing. Ethan’s eyes wandered over her figure. The way her blouse draped over her curvy torso, the subtle sway of her hips as she moved, with his eyes finally landing on the deep V that formed in her black pencil skirt along her lower back and ran down her ass.

    His mouth watered at the possibility of a new future reward.

    “So, you’re like a whore, right?”

    “Something like that,” Bridget replied, tossing aside a heavily stained shirt. Unfazed by the boy’s uncouth comment.

    “I want to fuck your ass,”

    “Excuse me?” Bridget spun to face the grinning boy, resisting the urge to slap him in favor of continuing her game. 

    “For my next reward…” Ethan took a step forward to the woman he perceived to be hired as his sex toy. “I want my next reward to be fucking your ass.”

    To his delight, she smiled at his request. Holding open a blue t-shirt, the least stained one she could find among the mess, she gestured for him to slide his arms into it. Next, she shook the dust from a pair of jeans before holding the waist open for him to step into.

    “Tell you what… If you’re good for the rest of tonight and tomorrow.” Bridget said, pulling his jeans up his waist with a quick tug. “Starting tomorrow night, I’ll give you all the anal play you could ever dream of.”

    Eyes glazed with excitement; Ethan released a surprised gasp at the generous offer. So caught in his own fantasy he missed how Bridget was dressing him–too lost in the dream to notice her slipping on his shoes and tying the laces or standing passively as she fastened the button and pulled up the zipper on his jeans. Oblivious to the gentle, almost paternal way she infantilized him as she dressed him. 

    It was nearly a block from his apartment that Ethan’s drifting mind eventually began to return from its reveries. The world around him slowly came back to focus–the distant hum of traffic, the rustling of leaves in the gentle night breeze, and the streetlights casting their glow on empty sidewalks beneath the full moon. The rhythmic clicks of Bridget’s stiletto heels echoed against the concrete, their sound reverberating off nearby buildings. They passed shuttered storefronts and neon signs flickering in the dusk, with the occasional window displaying half-empty mannequins and faded posters. The hum of the city nightlight and the distant sounds of laughter and conversation woke Ethan up to the firmly Bridget held him by the hand, guiding him along as if he were a wayward child.

    “Hey, I didn’t bring any of my stuff. Can we go back?” He asked, finally fully back to reality.

    “Oh don't worry about that. I grabbed your phone,” replied Bridget, holding up the phone in her free hand as proof.

    Unaware she and his mother had already witnessed the damning videos he kept. Ethan asked, “Oh, could I get that back?”

    “And don’t worry. We’ll go shopping tomorrow for some outfits for school.” Completely ignoring Ethan’s request, Bridget continued her thought. “We only have tomorrow and the day after. So we can spend tomorrow getting you everything you need for school and then have a free day for fun.”

    “Oh” Ethan responded, unsure if he should ask again.

    Ethan walked silently alongside Bridget; his hand clasped in hers. The city streets buzzed softly with the subdued late-night energy as they passed a row of quaint shops and cozy cafes, neon signs flickering intermittently, and casting colorful glows on the pavement below. As they approached a brightly lit bus stop, Ethan’s gaze was drawn to a woman standing nearby. Dressed in a vintage waitress uniform from the 1950s, complete with a frilly apron and a name tag, she greeted him with a warm smile. The sight felt almost surreal amidst the late-night setting, but instead of offering comfort, it only heightened Ethan’s awareness of how strange he must appear, walking hand-in-hand with Bridget.

    “Can you at least let me go?” He asked, trying to free his hand from her firm grasp. “What if people see me like this.”

    Bridget turned to him with a playful pout, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “What is the problem? Don’t you want everyone to see you out on the town with a beautiful woman like me?”

    “You’re like… fifty.” 

    Bridget’s smile faltered slightly, though she maintained her composure. Thirty-eight, she noted inwardly but didn’t correct him. Her thoughts shifted to the plans she had for their future interactions–plans that would require Ethan to address the debts his mouth was quickly building.

    “Well, Ethan,” she said, her voice softening, “holding hands makes me happy. Remember, you promised to be good and make me happy for your big reward tomorrow night.”

    Ethan sighed, reluctantly conceding. He realized that it was a trivial matter to risk his reward over. “I guess this is fine then.”

    As they turned down a quieter side street, the bright lights of the main road gave way to the softer, more intimate glow of scattered streetlamps. The occasional hum of a passing car punctuated their silence, while Bridget’s unwavering grip urged him to keep pace.

    They turned a corner and came upon a sleek, black sedan parked outside a jewelry shop, its lights dimmed, and shutters drawn for the night. Bridget clicked her key fob, and the car’s lights blinked in response. 

    “Here we are,” she said cheerfully, guiding Ethan to the car. “Why don’t you hop in the back?”

    “The back? Why can’t I just sit up front?”

    Bridget gave a patient yet firm smile. “It’s just easier this way. Trust me.”

    Ethan hesitated, casting a wary glance up and down the empty street. He didn’t see anyone watching, but the situation felt oddly unsettling. Still, he decided it was better to obey and keep his reward in sight.

    As Bridget opened the driver-side door, her eyes flicked toward one of the jewelry store’s many security cameras. Her lips curled into a knowing smile as she slid into the car.
 

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  • SpiritedPalfrey changed the title to Tabula Rasa (Chapter 3 Added 8/9/24)
Posted

Nice pacing.  Reminds me of all the times I warned my daughter that, when a boy says "I love you," what he really means is "I want to have sex with you."  Lust and love are so easily confused when you're young.  

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